


Flowerus Disease

by woyo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woyo/pseuds/woyo
Summary: Flowerus Disease is a disease found in someone who suffers from unrequited love. There will be white flowers floating from the patient’s mouth and if the patient’s crush doesn’t love him/her back, the patient will die. One who touches the flowers will be infected. The only way to cure it is to kiss the uninfected crush.A small flower floated from Hermione’s mouth in one Potion class.Thank @Havelocked! She does the whole beta work for me!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed.

“It’s a mental torture having Potions as the first class,” Ron grumbled as they headed for the dungeon. “It ruins the whole day!”

“Yet O.W.L.s are coming this year. You have no choice,” snapped Hermione.

They reached the dungeon and sat in their usual position. Snape was unpleasant as ever. Harry prayed that git wouldn’t pick on him today.

“Moronic though some of the class undoubtedly are,” Snape fixed his eyes on Neville, who quivered, “I expect you all to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your O.W.L.s, and some silly girl may exert herself to reach an ‘Outstanding’.” He gazed at Hermione, who stared back.  “Or else…” he paused.

“Suffer my displeasure.”

An ominous silence reigned in the dungeon.

“Now, tell me what the potion in the cauldron is and its function,” asked Snape.

Hermione’s hand was immediately up.

Snape ignored her for a while. Seeing nobody else even showed a sign of motion, let alone hands up, he turned to Hermione. “You, Miss Granger.”

“It’s Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth,” Hermione answered perfectly as ever. Snape nodded to her to sit down.

Hermione sat down. A sudden urge to cough seized her. She covered her mouth with her hands and coughed. When she stopped, however,  Hermione noticed to her great astonishment a small white flower lying on her open palm.

She froze.

_Flowerus Disease._

A dreadful blast of realization crashed over her.  _No, it can’t be true_ , thought Hermione desperately.

Yet another small flower floated from her mouth and landed on her _Moste Potente Potions._

Hermione snapped the book closed, keeping both her book and mouth shut for the rest of the class.

 

“I bet Gryffindor could win the House Cup if Snape rewarded Hermione every time she gave a perfect answer,” Ron said as the three of them headed for Professor McGonagall’s classroom.

Hermione simply nodded.

“What’s up? You look pale since Potions,” Harry asked, concern clear in his voice. “Do you need to go to the hospital wing?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Gee, why are you so quiet?” Ron rolled his eyes.

In her class, Professor McGonagall told them to transform an ink bottle to a flask, and she would grade their work by how transparent the flask was. She hinted this task would probably appear in their O.W.L.s.

“O.W.L. again!” grumbled Ron.

Hermione stared at the ink bottle. She knew there existed nonverbal spells but she hadn’t mastered them yet. She _had_ to open the mouth and cast the spell. She had to do it correctly and on her first try.

With a sharp intake of breath, Hermione mutter the spell and the ink bottle transformed into a flask immediately, perfect and transparent. She looked up and noticed Harry’s flask was still translucent, Ron’s ink-spotted. She heaved a sigh.

“Great, Miss Granger!” said Professor McGonagall, “Five points for Gryffindor! You’ve done quite well.”

Hermione nodded modestly.

 _If only it was Professor Snape who has said so,_ thought Hermione. _If only..._

 

That night, Hermione put on a gauze mask and buried herself in the books she had borrowed from the school library.

“What are you doing? You’ve been acting weird since Potions!” asked Ron .

“I just want to do some study,” grumbled Hermione behind her mask as she scribbled quickly on the parchment without even looking up.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look of worry and both shrugged.

Hermione knew perfectly well what she was suffering from. _Flowerus Disease_. She had read about it in a book before but hadn’t paid much attention to it. She tried to recall the description of Flowerus Disease, only to remember it was a deadly disease unless the one you’d fallen for loved you too. _That’s impossible_ , thought Hermione,  _there must be a way to cure it. There must be._

She’d read _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_ : nothing about Flowerus Disease. Fine. Then _The Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. Nothing.  _Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions_ said close contact with the crush could relieve the disease, though not cure it totally.

Hermione copied the paragraph down.

Close contact could buy her more time... Hermione considered the possibility of it. She was a Muggle-born. Before entering Hogwarts she was the monitor of the class and had a fair amount of contact with her teachers. But Hogwarts only had perfects and she hadn’t reached that age. She wasn’t a Slytherin so she couldn’t see Professor Snape as often... Maybe she could try to make some trouble and earn herself a detention with Snape...

She pictured it.

_Only he and me in the gloomily dungeon. He would sneer and call me silly girl... I could pretend to be clumsy and knock into something. Then he would bend over and..._

“Hermione, what are you thinking about?” asked Harry. “You are blushing scarlet.”

“Boys?” guessed Ron. “Who?”

_He’s not a boy. He’s a man._

“N-Nothing,” she stuttered for the first time. “I’m going to bed. See you.”

She collected the books and other things, stuffing them into her schoolbag and rushed to the girl’s dorm with her mask on.

Ron stared at her receding figure for a while before turning to Harry. “Who could she fall for? I hope it’s not a Slytherin, or Draco would laugh to death.”

“No idea.” Harry frowned.

 

As days went by, Hermione got more and more pale. She rejected going hospital wing and never took off her mask. What’s more, she went to the bathroom more often.

“It’s you again, Hermione,” said Moaning Myrtle as Hermione pushed the door open.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, taking off her mask. “More and more snowy flowers these days. I’ll choke if I don’t clean it frequently.”

She took out her wand. “ _Scourgify_!”

The flowers attached to the inner side of the mask disappeared. She put it on again. “See you, Myrtle!”

“Wait!” Myrtle floated nearby. “Why don’t you tell him directly? I know little about Flowerus Disease, but you are getting weaker with every day...”

“Myrtle, have you… ” asked Hermione, “did you ever fall for someone when you were alive?”

  “I was and am always forgotten!” howled Myrtle. “Nobody cares for me whether I’m alive of dead! Nobody! How could I be supposed to fall for someone who taunted me?”

“He taunts me, too,” said Hermione quietly. “He called me insufferable know-it-all.”

“So how could you—?”

“No idea.” tears welled up in her bright eyes and her hair grew bushier. “Love is blind, maybe. And I can’t confess it to him. It’s just, impossible,” she sighed.

“Anyway, though he might not be in the same house as are, there is still chance for you to—”

“He is not a student.” Hermione wiped the tears away. It was surprising that she could shed tears while speaking calmly. “Will you keep a secret?”

Though transparent, Myrtle looked petrified. “Nobody’s ever confided in me before. They all thought I have a big mouth and a face too ugly to—”

“He is Snape.” Hermione smiled bitterly. “Severus Snape. _Professor_ Snape.”

She walked out of the bathroom and let the door slam closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are welcomed~


	2. Chapter 2

“Miss Granger,” sneered Snape, “Why are you wearing that silly mask?”

All the class turned to look at her. Draco sniggered. Hermione flushed but stared back at Snape.

_Maybe eye contact could work..._

“A scar that takes days to heal.”

“So why do you, Mr. Potter,” Snape turned to Harry, “hand me an essay marked only D?”

Harry clenched his fist and hissed.

“Rewrite it and hand the new one to me on Monday. Dismissed.” Snape strode out of the dungeon, his long black cloak billowing behind him.

“That old git!” cursed Harry. “It’s Friday! That essay might take me the whole weekend!”

“So I have to play Quidditch without you tomorrow?” asked Ron.

“I’m afraid so,” replied Harry wearily.

“That old git!” cursed Ron.

“Silence,” Hermione waved weakly, burying herself in the books as ever.

“So what’s the scar? You don’t have any scars, do you?” inquired Harry, evidently worried.

“Drop it.” Hermione waved him to shut up.

 

On Saturday morning, the weather was great for playing Quidditch, yet Harry was trapped inside with that essay. Ron borrowed his Firebolt and headed for the pitch happily. Though Harry had Hermione with him, she didn’t talk much.

“Hermione, what’s the herb that...” Harry started to say.

“See _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. I am busy,” she snapped.

Harry opened the said book bitterly.

Hermione had started reading another loads of books. _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery_  said nothing about Flowerus Disease, neither did _Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts_. Would Herbology help? She focused on Asiatic  _Anti-Venoms_ _._

_...Bezoars can save people from most poisons. Yet some poisons have no corresponding antidotes,_

_and the same applies to many diseases, like Flowerus Disease, for example. It’s incurable and rare._

_Except for a kiss from the uninfected crush, no known antidote has ever been found. And when_

_bloodstained flowers instead of snowy ones float from the patient’s mouth, their death is approach-_

_ing within days..._

 

Hermione copied down the paragraph.

Incurable. Incurable. _Incurable._

There must be some potion to save her from Flowerus Disease. A Love Potion? Amortentia? But they only caused obsessions, not true love...

She coughed again, nearly choking with flowers.  Standing up. She headed to the bathroom.

Harry waited until Hermione had left the library. She could come back in minutes so knew he’d better be quick. Harry leaned over the notes she had taken and froze.

 

_Flowerus Disease is a disease found in someone who suffers from unrequited love.White flowers_

_will float from the patient’s mouth and if the patient’s crush doesn’t love him/her back, the patient_

_will die. Anyone who touches the flowers will be infected._

_The only way to cure it is to kiss the uninfected crush._

 

So it's Flowerus Disease that Hermione was suffering from? That was why she wore a mask? thought Harry. Ron was right. She had fallen for somebody. And that somebody is not me...

Harry read on.

 

_Body contact can remarkably slow down the disease..._

_The only way to cure it is to gain the loved one’s love..._

_The patient will collapse occasionally as the disease worsens..._

_When the flowers are bloodstained, the patient will die within days..._

 

He heard sound in the corridor.

Harry hurriedly returned to his previous position, pretending to be puzzled by the essay.

Hermione sat down and returned her focus to the book. Harry’s heart beat fast in his chest.

_I shall help her._

She would fly into a fury if she knew of my peeking.

_I can’t watch her die._

She doesn’t love me! And I don’t know who she’s fallen for.

_I should ask._

She would kill me! I am not the one after all!

In the end, Harry concluded that he should tell Ron and work this out.

 

It was half past eleven. Harry yawned, stretching himself in the chair and suggested to Hermione they should go to lunch together. She nodded and collected her things.

They walked through the corridor. Hermione remained silent. Harry guessed it was due to how many flowers were in her mouth—

Thump!

Hermione collapsed, unconscious.

_The patient will collapse occasionally as the disease worsens..._

 

Knowing it would be of little help, Harry took out his wand immediately: _“Enervate! Enervate! ENERVATE!”_

Yet Hermione lay motionless.

Panicking, Harry tried to lift Hermione to his shoulder, so that he could get her to the hospital wing.

“What are you doing, Potter?”

There stood Snape in his usual black robe.

“Hermione collapsed as we were going to lunch.” Harry tried hard to curb his anger, “So I am going to take her to the— What are you—?”

Snape’s long fingers removed Hermione’s mask as he bent over. Her face was scarless. And Harry noted some small white flowers attached on the inner side of the mask, which must have escaped Snape’s notice as he stroked Hermione’s face.

“Strange,” said Snape softly, “She said she had a scar.”

“It’s none of your—”

To Harry’s great astonishment, Hermione’s eyelashes quivered and she let out an unconscious moan.

“Why not try a healing charm on her, Potter?” sneered Snape,“I’m glad to see how five years of magical education has not been wasted on you. Standing by and watching your friend faint.”

“I’ve tried! It didn’t work!” Harry retorted.

Snape let Hermione rest in his arms. She let out another moan and Harry could see her face had some color when Snape touched her. His heart sank.

_“Enervate.”_

Hermione’s fingers made a slight movement.

_“Enervate.”_

Hermione’s face grew increasingly rosy, not as pale as before.

_“Enervate.”_

Hermione opened her eyes, only to find herself cradled in Snape’s arms. She screeched.

“Don’t be silly.” Snape pulled her to her feet. “Your don’t have a scar on your face.”

“...yes.”

“So,” Snape gazed at her, “Why?”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine. It happens that I have no interest in your preference.” Snape loosened his grip and let Hermione go. “As for you, Potter.” Harry looked up. “Five points from Gryffindor for your poor performance in an easy healing spell.”

He walked away.

 _So it was Snape... Snape... how could it be Snape..._ Harry was lost in extreme shock. _So Hermione must die? Snape wasn’t going to love her. He seemed to be bankrupt of love..._

Yet Hermione looked cheerfully along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been considering a series of that disease yet I don't know where to start.  
> Any suggestions?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've survived a series of dreadful exams and am in the aftermath of math.  
> Hope I don't disappoint you hahaha

“Harry! Your Firebolt is wonderful!” After dinner, Harry and Hermione were seated in the Gryffindor common room when Ron came in. “I’ve flown perfectly today as I—”

“Hermione fainted today,” Harry stated. He found his voice plain and cool.

“Oh, drop it. I am okay...”

“What happened?” Ron looked alert. “Have you been to the hospital wing?”

“I am fine—”

“I cast a healing charm on her,” regardless of her protests, Harry went on. “It didn’t work at all.”

“That means you should practice that charm more,” Ron urged. “Gosh, I feel like Hermione.”

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione.

“And Snape turned up,” Harry stated calmly, as if he were speaking from far, far away. “He cast the healing charm on her, too. As soon as he touched her and cast the identical charm I had, Hermione woke up, safe and sound without a scratch.”

“So,” Ron mused, “you reckon it’s some kind of Dark Arts? And Snape is involved? Yes! I am with you. Hermione started acting weird after that potion class—”

“How many times have you suspected Snape and when have you ever been right?” snapped Hermione, furious.

“Don’t you think it explains everything?” asked Ron.

“Drop it! You are getting carried away,” Hermione snapped again.

“It’s Snape,” Harry said numbly.

Hermione stood up, attracting some curious looks from other people in the room. Fortunately there weren’t many students here today.

“I said drop it!”

Harry stood up, too. “I am not talking about the Dark Arts. I am talking about... Flowerus Disease.”

Hermione’s face drained out of color.

“It’s Snape, isn’t it?” asked Harry, already knowing the terrible answer, “Why him? WHY?”

“Keep your voice down, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “I don’t know, either. It... it just happened...”

“Hey,” Ron interrupted them in bemusement, “What are you talking about? What’s Flowerus Disease?”

“Nothing,” Hermione stated sharply as she buried herself in her books again.

“Harry?” Ron turned to Harry, who pretended to pay more attention to his essay. “Fine, I am going to bed.”

He headed for the dorm, a little unhappy.

 

Ten minutes after Ron’s departure, Harry called tentatively: “Hermione?”

“What?” Hermione looked up.

“Do something instead of reading! I don’t want to watch you die!”

“So what am I supposed to do? Tell him directly?” Hermione said, affronted. “Develop a relationship with my _professor_?”

Harry fell silent for a moment.

“But Flowerus Disease is incurable,” he said quietly. “If you don’t get the kiss, you’ll die.”

“You shouldn’t have peeked at my notes.”

“I can lend the Cloak and the Map to you,” Harry made up his mind, “and you can sneak into his bedroom... and grab the kiss.”

“That could break a hundred school rules! Though it’s not stipulated in explicit terms that students mustn’t kiss a professor... once caught, I am worse than dead!”

“Or I can go with you. Make sure that you get the kiss and act as lookout,” said Harry firmly. “Please. Save yourself.”

Hermione’s lips were pressed together. That plan might work... And it was tempting...

“I need to reflect on it before I step into the waters of rule breaking,” said Hermione, her expression softening. “Anyway, thanks.”

“You know how I feel for you,” said Harry fervently. “You know it.”

“Yet you haven't got Flowerus Disease,” stressed Hermione. “You can forget me and go out with other girls. The Seeker of Ravenclaw winked at you last time.”

“But you know I—”

“And so do I,” answered Hermione quietly. “Mine is him. Not you.”

She bade him goodbye and left the common room.

 

Sunday. They headed for the Quidditch pitch. Ron was cheerful that Harry could play alongside him this time.

Before they reached the field, Harry took out the Cloak and the Map. Ron gazed at them.

“So what are we going to play? Invisible Quidditch?”

“It’s for the thing we discussed last night,” explained Harry. “Hermione is going to have a night adventure alone.”

Hermione nodded, taking the two offered items.

“What’s that about? That Flowerus Disease? What is Flowerus Disease?”

“A disease that means,” stated Hermione plainly, “I must kiss Snape, or it will kill me.”

“WHAT?” cried Ron, incredulous. “That must be some very dark magic! Absolutely dark! Merlin’s underwear, why—?”

“Good morning.” A great shadow was cast down upon them: Snape. “Why are you crying at the top of your lungs, Weasley?”

“Thrilled at the weather,” Ron lied.

“Three points from Gryffindor for your noise.” Snape turned around and left, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Ron cursed.

 

Hermione was in a trance for the whole day. She was afraid that she would fail, the possibility of which was extremely high as so many things could go wrong. On the other hand, she feared success for some reason she couldn’t tell. Quite a paradox.

It was half past twelve. Having refused to show up in the common room, Hermione stayed in the dorm until everyone was sound asleep. She took out the Map, found the mark that indicated Snape and put on the Cloak. The dot of Snape lay still in his bedchamber. Great.

She tiptoed out of the dorm and climbed through the portrait hole with great caution. Nobody here. Perfect.

Hermione crept to Snape’s bedroom, which was not far away from his office. When she finally reached the door, Hermione pulled out her wand.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” she whispered.

The door swung open. Without questioning why a master of Defense hadn’t developed a habit of locking the door properly, she stepped in under the Cloak, leaving the door ajar.

It was a gloomy room. Much like Snape’s office, the bedroom was filled with aged books and eccentric ingredients. Hermione swore that she saw a flayed limb in a green jar.

She drew near to the bed. Snape was sleeping.

His nightshirt was gray, or maybe it had faded from black. Snape looked tender and almost friendly in sleep, even... vulnerable. Hermione tucked her wand and the Map into her robe, leaning a little nearer to the sleeping man to have a closer look. His pallid face was in stark contrast to his dark hair. Something like a necklace glittered around his neck.

_Okay, it was time for sure._

It was when Hermione was about to take off the Cloak and perform the kiss that Snape’s eyes opened abruptly. With a sharp intake of breath, Hermione stepped backwards and stood stiff, sweating.

 _It was a coincidence,_  she prayed,  _it must be..._

Yet in a dreadful blast of realization she heard Snape’s voice:

“Evening, silly girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make the story much, much longer than supposed really.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you guys may have noticed, English is not my first language so welcome to point out my grammer mistakes or whatever mistakes I have made.  
> ヾ(◍°∇°◍)ﾉﾞ

Taken aback, Hermione held her breath. Before she could react, Snape pulled his wand from under his pillow and shot a binding spell  in her direction. Hermione froze literally.

He walked towards her, removed her Cloak and undid the spell.

“Explain.” He was more intimidating than ever.

“Flowerus Disease,” said Hermione quietly, staring at Snape.

“Flowerus Disease,” Snape repeated, his eyebrows raising.

“You know what Flowerus Disease is, Professor,” stated Hermione with such coolness in her voice it was as if she had expected to be caught. “Unfortunately, it’s you, Professor. Mine is you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, silly girl,” said Snape, yet Hermione knew he understood. “However, Flowerus Disease is incurable. There are no known antidotes. I’ve acquired some potions to slow it down but I’ve never succeeded in curing it completely—”

“You can cure it,” said Hermione determinedly.

“I can only slow it down with potions. That’s what I’ve been doing since——”

“You don’t need potions to cure it. You _can_.” Hermione looked up at him, “You _can_ cure mine.”

“I’ve never had the impression that you have a crush on me, Miss Granger.”

“But I do.”

“Since when?” Snape mocked. “You burnt my cloak in your first year. You call that love?”

“Haven’t you, _professor_ , ever wondered why I spotted you the moment you muttered the countercurse while there were so many others in the field?” Hermione looked directly into his black eyes. “I’d been watching _you_  since the game began!”

“Then why didn’t you submerge everyone in your flowers back in the first year?”

“I… I don’t know!”

Snape’s expression was serious.

“You still have that crush even if I take points from Gryffindor?”

“Yes, I do.” said Hermione firmly.

“Even if I call you insufferable know-it-all?”

“Yes, I do,” said Hermione, affronted.

“Even if I used to serve the Dark Lord and I may bring about a relapse at any time?”

“Yes, I do,” Hermione shot him a determined stare.

“Touching.” Snape’s lips curled. “You may go, Miss Granger. I expect you have grasped what I mean.”

Hermione got irritated. Why didn’t he understand! The treatment was as simple as a flick of wand. Was it that hard? Anyway, she didn’t expect a result like that after she finally confessed it to him. No, no way.

She stood on tiptoe and pulled herself near him. This time, this time she must—

Yet Snape was faster than her. He dodged, grabbed her wrist and threw her on the bed with all his might.

It looked like they were going to sleep with each other.

Yet Snape pointed at the door: “Go.”

“No.” Hermione sat up. “Not until you—”

“Go,” demanded Snape.

“NO!” Hermione cried out.

“I am afraid you have no choice,” said Snape softly.

Hermione stood up and dashed out of that place of sorrow, her eyes blurred with tears.

 

She wept herself to sleep that night.

 

The breakfast next day was embarrassing.

“Have you—?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“But—” Harry looked half rejoiced, half dismayed.

“I have no idea how he spotted me before I could do anything,” said Hermione drowsily.

“Maybe that git coincidentally wanted to go to the loos at that time,” guessed Ron, taking a glimpse at the Gryffindor hourglass, “He didn’t take 5000 points from Gryffindor, did he?”

“I confessed it to him and he simply told me to leave,” said Hermione dryly. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about that terrible experience.

Fortunately, an owl flew into the Great Hall and dropped a parcel for her, saving her from that unbearable conversation.

It was a school owl, who headed for the owlery after Hermione awarded her some biscuits.

Hermione tore the parcel open. It was an aged book,  _A Study of Flowerus Disease._

“What’s that?” Harry leaned towards her.

Carefully shielding the book, Hermione lied: “Nothing.” She had vaguely guessed who the book was from and she was unwilling to share it with others.

It was not until Harry’s attention was diverted that Hermione finally opened the book, in which lay a note:

 

_For your survival._

 

Hermione precluded any possibility of eye contact in the following Potions lesson. Yet she felt Snape kept watching her, especially when he asked questions and Hermione chose to remain silent.

The bell rang and the dungeon emptied. Hermione dawdled behind deliberately.

“May I assume that you want to have a word with me, Miss Granger?” Snape gazed at her with his dark eyes and Hermione walked towards him.

“You gave me that book. Why?”

“Flowerus Disease is a deadly disease that only infects wizards and witches, which is either spontaneous or acquired. If Flowerus Disease rages in Hogwarts, it will be a nightmarish catastrophe as it was declared to have died out decades ago.”

“How do you know mine is not a spontaneous one?” contended Hermione.

“Your puppy love isn’t deep enough. No more than temporary obsession, I suppose,” said Snape sardonically, “Anyway, the more you know about Flowerus Disease, the better the chance of your survival. For your protection.”

“So you still refuse to cure me?” questioned Hermione in a fury.

“Obviously.”

Hermione stamped her feet and stormed out of the dungeon in rage.

 

It might have been the first time Hermione had opened a book reluctantly. She was haunted by Snape’s refusal to perform the kiss. Was she too ugly? Or was he in another relationship and his girlfriend would get jealous if he did so? No, that’s rubbish. The only female creature around him except for professors and students was Mrs. Norris. Or was he suffering from Flowerus Disease too? Yet no stupid flowers ever floated form his mouth and Snape was so ascetic that Hermione found it impossible to imagine him fall head over heels for any girl.

She sighed and opened the book.

 

_...Flowerus Disease is a dea_ _dly disease that only infects wizards and witches, be they purebloods_

_or Muggle-borns. It can be spontaneous if one’s love is exceedingly deep yet unrequited. But no_

_solid evidence has ever been found that implies who the first patient was._

_Another way to catch Flowerus Disease is to touch the flowers that float from the patients’ mou-_

_th_ (Luckily I cleaned them carefully every time, thought Hermione). _However, if you aren’t suffering_

_from unrequited love, you will never be infected even if you touched them._

 

And then followed the rise and fall of Flowerus Disease. Hermione was astonished to find that Flowerus Disease had been declared to have die out more than sixty years ago. No wonder Snape asked her to find out why. Rita Skeeter would do a backward flip if she got this scoop.

 

_...the Ministry of Magic suppressed Flowerus Disease with hard effect. They exerted themselves_

_to clean the small white flowers, even those not from someone’s mouth. They urged the infected_

_to confess and gain the kiss. For those whose crush had died, the Ministry had to isolate them_

_until they died in the hospital. Nobody could cure it or slow it down._

        (But Snape said he could slow it down. Was he boasting?)

_Luckily, Flowerus Disease was controlled almost immediately. The last patient was a witch, who_

_fell in love with a Muggle boy and got extremely weak after he abandoned her. She died in an_

_Muggle orphanage after she gave birth to a boy. There has been Flowerus Disease ever since then._

_Her name was..._

 

 

Hermione turned another page to see what her name was.

 

_...Merope Gaunt. The boy’s name was Tom Marvolo Riddle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merope was one of those who suffered most from unrequited love in HP, I suppose.
> 
> Spoiler: next chapter contains how Hermione got the disease, a little interaction between her and Snape, and another almost identical cliffhanger.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is only two chapters left!

It was the second year when the rumors about Chamber of Secrets were all around.

Hermione was hurrying through the corridor when Ginny ran into her. Apologizing, Hermione picked up the scattered books for Ginny.

She saw the black-covered diary and piked it up out of curiosity. Ginny reacted fiercely when she noticed what was in Hermione’s hand. She snatched the diary and stuffed it into her schoolbag, her face reddening. As Ginny dashed out of the scene Hermione noted a small bookmark glittering on the ground.

“Hey! Ginny! You’ve left a bookmark!”

“Never mind! It’s yours!” Ginny’s voice died out from a distance.

Slowly she picked it up.

It’s a piece of iron, on the tip of which was a flower-shaped ornament, also made of iron. Though rusted a little, the bookmark simple yet beautiful. Hermione put it in one of her books and quickly forgot its existence.

 

It was the fifth year. Hermione was searching for her Potions book when she accidentally knocked off a stack of books. Signing inannoyance, she put them away and found the bookmark lying broken on the ground. Some snowy powders were in and out of the broken ornament. She muttered _Reparo_  to the mess but it didn’t help so Hermione picked it up in sorry and threw it.

 

Realization crashed over her as Hermione recalled these memories. She snapped the book and ran to the other end of Gryffindor common room—Ginny was sitting here.

“Hi Ginny,” she panted, “Do you...do you know anything about the bookmark in the diary of Riddle?”

“What diary?” Ginny looked stunned. “Wait, Riddle? Bookmark? The one he made?”

“He _made_ the bookmark? Tell me what you know, please. It’s urgent.”

“Okay. At first I wasn’t trust him that much,” It still hurt for Ginny to recall that memory. “But Tom...Riddle said he had a poor childhood. His mother died after giving birth to her at a Muggle orphanage. The only thing he had from her was her coat in which they wrapped him. Years later Riddle found some dry flowers attached to the coat and they didn’t decay even after so many years! So he managed to grind the flower and made a bookmark with the powder. He had discover his magic at that time.”

Chill crept through Hermione’s spine.

“Are you okay? You look pale even with your mask on.” asked Ginny concernedly, “I was so scared when I ran to you in my first year that I even left the bookmark... But Riddle didn’t get angry at all and since then I confessed more to him... Is it bewitched or something? Shall we tell Dumbledore?”

“No. Not at all. Thank you.” said Hermione dully.

 

Merope was the last patient. You-Know-Who wouldn’t be infected because he was bankrupt of all the human feelings and he was too young to have a crush at that time. All the other people in that orphanage were Muggles so they were immune from Flowerus Disease. Ginny fell for Harry in her first year yet the bookmark was intact, flower powders untouched. So she was the doomed one. Very well. Sounded a hundred times better than “the Chosen One”. Hermione conclude ironically.

She headed for Snape’s dungeon and knocked the door.

“Enter.”

Snape was seated behind the desk, scribbling something on a notebook. Something oyster white was bubbling in the cauldron.

Hermione cleared her throat: “I’ve found where my Flowerus Disease is from.”

“Oh, really?” Snape cocked his eyebrows, “Elaborate.”

Then Hermione told him everything. When she finished, Snape didn’t give a single comment.

“Take off your mask.” he demanded.

Hermione did so obediently.

Snape rose form his seat and drew near. Cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, his gaze lingering on her.

“You are pale.” he announced, letting go of her jaw and grabbed her wrist. “Feeling better?”

Hermione nodded, not accustomed to the sudden intimacy though she did enjoy it.

After three or five minutes, Snape loosened his grip. “You may go, Miss Granger.”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Hermione scowled at him.

“Three points from Gryffindor for your uninvited interruption.”

 

In the following weeks Harry noticed Snape patted on her shoulders every time she answered questions. Harry once cornered Snape and asked him whether he had developed affection for her and—

“Not at all, Potter.” sneered Snape, “All I want to do is so save her and buy her more time. Don’t expect anything else from me. It’s such a joke that a hard-working student is doomed to die young and a swine such as you can have fame and everything. Plus, ten points from Gryffindor for your rudeness, Potter.”

 

The atmosphere in the library was growing more and more tense as the O.W.L.s were around the corner. Hermione got impatient at the persistent Flowerus Disease as she had to clean the annoying flowers at intervals, the frequency of which had decreased remarkably, though. What’s more, students gossiped that “the scar that takes days to heal” was somewhat cursed like Harry’s. Malfoy even jeered that she finally realized she was too ugly to show her face.

Irritated, Hermione ran out of the library to do the cleaning routine, only to bump into someone.

Snape.

Her raised his wand an cast a vanishing spell on her mask as well as the flowers inside. Hermione’s face was exposed entirely.

“You can’t apply for sick leaves like that in your O.W.L.s.” said Snape, his face unreadable.

“So?”

“So,” Snape handed her a flask with something oyster white inside. “The potion could dissolve your flowers before their departure so there won’t be a single flowers floating from you. Yet Flowerus Disease still exists, uncured. You understand?”

Hermione nodded, holding the flask with caution.

“Thank you, professor.”

“Three points from Gryffindor for the lack of constant attention to your study, Granger.”

He turned around and left, the black long cape billowing behind him. Snape looked like a dungeon bat as ever.

 

That night Harry was surprised to find Hermione playing wizard chess with Ron without her mask on when he entered the common room from another detention given by Snape.

“What’s up?”

Ron winked cheerfully: “Hermione said she cornered the old bat and performed the kiss by force! Oh, I wish I were present! I am dying to see his expression!”

“Just as inscrutable and unpleasant as ever.” said Hermione without even looking up.

“Really?” Harry frowned.

“Or how come could I stop those stupid flowers?” snapped Hermione, “I _am_  cured, that’s it.”

There were so many things racing in Harry’s mind that he didn’t doubt Hermione’s words. Harry sat doubt Hermione’s words. Harry sat down, blushing crimson.

“What’s up?” asked Ron.

“It’s Cho...she snogged me.” he looked uneasy, “She took the initiative.”

Ron whistled.

Hermione finally looked up. “Congratulations.”

 _T_ _angled love lives_ , thought Hermione.

 

The O.W.L.s went smoothly. The high pressure that had haunted all the Hogwarts fifth years were eventually relieved. They happily packed their things and boarded the train home. Thanks to Snape’s timely potions, Flowerus Disease didn’t hamper Hermione in the exams, thought he removed points from Gryffindor every time he brought the oyster white potions.

Hermione grew more and more anxious in the summer vacation as the day of O.W.L.s results drawing near, also weakening as the effect of Snape’s body contact slowly wore off. She hoped she could obtain all Os, especially Potions. Hermione dreamed a lot these days, most of which were mere nightmares, like she got all Ds and a T for Potions or a Snape in colorful attire snogging other girls. However, she had a dream that Snape sneaked into her bedroom and they shared a series of French kisses while her parents were sound asleep.

She woke up from the dream that was too pleasing to be true, only to find someone had already stood here, his face more pallid than before.

“Evening, Miss Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger rules!  
> (๑╹◡╹)ﾉ"""


	6. Chapter 6

“Professor?” Hermione sat up in astonishment. “There are Muggles everywhere? What if you are caught?”

“You did the same thing to me several months ago,” said Snape quietly. “You have no right to judge my behavior.”

“All right. But why are you—”

“The notebook,” heedless of what Hermione was saying, Snape handed the notebook to her, “has the detailed instructions on how to brew the flower dissolving potion. As well as the Hair Solvent.”

“What’s the—?”

“And this is the amulet,” he handed her a necklace, “in the pendant of which holds the Hair Solvent. Both potions are my inventions. As long as you wear the necklace, the effect is tantamount to constant body contact so theoretically you won’t die from Flowerus Disease, though you will never be cured.”

“Theoretically?” Hermione’s eyes widened. “So...”

“No one  is immortal, Granger,” sneered Snape. “Recently I found the magic will wear off after a decade or two. So you will, in time, need to brew new ones.”

Snape handed a woolen bag to her and Hermione noticed the ends of Snape’s hair were uneven.

“My hair, the amount of which is enough even if you aim to live 150 years,” he concluded.

Holding so many things in her hand, Hermione was in a trance. Was Snape speaking in a passive tone? Yet he was as unpleasant and gloomy as ever...

“You are infected, right? That’s why you refuse to perform the kiss.” Hermione put the things she held on the nightstand and looked up at Snape.

Snape undid several buttons around his collar and pulled out a necklace, which was almost identical to Hermione’s.

Silence fell over them.

“How is she?” Hermione already knew the answer before Snape spoke.

“Died fourteen years, seven months and twenty-one days ago.”

Driven by a sudden impulse, Hermione approached Snape and wrapped him in her arms. Snape stiffened at first but soon relaxed.

“Will-will you die, too?” she sobbed. “The magic wears off, doesn’t it?”

After hesitating for a moment, Snape patted her back: “Remember what I said in your first class?”

“What would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.”

“No, not that, silly girl,” Snape’s voice had softened to nearly a whisper. “ _I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death._ So there is no need to worry about me. Take care of yourself, deal?”

“D-deal.” Hermione’s face was tearstained.

He let go of her. Bathed in the moonlight, Snape looked like an surreal dream, fragile and distant.

“Good luck,” he said before he Apparated.

 

Hermione received her results a week later. She’d achieved all Os except D.A.D.A., for which she ended up with an E. The pendant was tiny and waterproof so she could wear it without being noticed and she didn’t need to take it off when taking a shower. Hermione read and re-read the notebook with heart and soul to kill time without magic. She admitted Snape was such an unprecedented potions master that his inventions were superb. So maybe he could brew some potions to cure Flowerus Disease comprehensively?

She had absolute belief in him for that.

 

Snape changed a lot when the new term began.

Firstly, he didn’t give out detentions at all. Instead he took double the points from houses to make up for the absence of detentions. 50 points were taken from Gryffindor because Neville dropped his quill by accident and nobody present dared to ask why.

Secondly, Snape only showed up in classes. He wasn’t sitting at the teacher’s table at mealtimes and nobody saw him crossing the corridor as before. When the Quidditch season started, he didn’t even watch Slytherin versus Gryffindor on the stand. Anyway, students in Hogwarts were only too happy that they could avoid his presence.

Lastly, he seemed to have sealed his mouth. Though he was never talkative before, he now acted as if he had lost the ability to speak. In every class, with a wave of his wand all the necessary information was on the board and he moved among the tables, giving out snide remarks in a whisper. Nobody liked it when Snape breathed on their necks. But Snape was used to people’s dislikes. He didn’t care.

An ominous premonition seized Hermione every time she noticed Snape’s abnormal behavior. She tried to corner Snape and ask him directly but Snape never gave her the chance. He could be really creepy sometimes.

 

It was cloudy all the day. No sunshine. No moonlight. That night the spirit in Gryffindor common room was extremely low as they were struggling in the academic sea and somebody had drowned like a red-haired and a scar-headed boy.

“What the hell is that!” hissed Ron furiously, “It’s in Greek! How am I supposed to summarize that shit if I can’t understand it at all!”

“I am with you,” said Harry drowsily. “What is going wrong with Snape’s mind? Why does he have the illusion that we can finish it by tomorrow?”

“Shut up,” snapped Hermione. “I can’t concentrate.”

“Oh, dearest, sweetest Hermione baby,” begged Ron, “ you won’t mind if I have a look at your...?”

“Of course not. And would you mind if Snape takes 200 points from Gryffindor when he finds out?”

Ron leaned back into the chair: “I wish that old git were dead. Hermione is cured anyway.”

Before Hermione could shoot him an angry look, the portrait hole burst open.

All the Gryffindors in the common room looked up and stared at the intruder.

It was Neville, who apparently wasn’t used to that much attention.

“S-Snape,” he stuttered.

“If that old git is going to assign more work, I suggest you shut up,” shouted Seamus, who had been stuck in that onerous task of assignment writing for nearly an hour without any remarkable progress.

“N-No.” Neville looked as if he was suffocating. “Snape was sent to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. All of his classes are canceled tomorrow.”

“OH YEAH!” Ron jumped up in jubilation. “Did anyone slip some Felix Felicis in my dinner?”

“LET’S THROW A PARTY!” somebody shouted, setting the common room in a roar.

Hermione sat there, numb with shock.

Yet Neville’s gaze fell upon her.

She feared everything that would ensue. _Everything._

“Hermione, Dumbledore wants to see you in his office.”

The world came to a halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretend there is a note.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

Robbed of all senses, Hermione walked to Dumbledore’s office absentmindedly. The door stood ajar, behind which was the unacceptable truth.

“Professor?” she heard herself speak to Dumbledore, who studied her over his half-moon spectacles.

“Come in,” he said. “Severus left something for you.”

The Pensive was on the table, beside which was a flask full of thoughts.

Hermione wanted to flee. She feared everything she would see in the Pensive. Was Snape... no, not that word, he said he wouldn’t...

“How is Professor Snape?”

Dumbledore didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed at a small bunch of flowers: “He left you those flowers and his thoughts in the flask.”

Slowly Hermione took up the flowers. They had nothing in common with the flowers that used to float from her mouth except that they were also snowy. And, with no difficulty, she recognized the flowers as asphodels.

_“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”_

The first question he asked when they first met.

Hermione clenched the asphodels, looking up.

“Please tell me, Professor. Is he in the hospital?”

“We sent him there and he left those thoughts for you.”

“Does he wear a necklace?” Hermione fixed her eyes on Dumbledore. “Did you see anything strange?”

“He cared for you. That’s all I can see.”

“You talk about him in past tense,” said Hermione plainly, tears trickling down her face.

“No wonder you’ve achieve eight Os and one E in your O.W.L.s. You’re a clever girl.”

Hermione wiped away her tears and dived into the Pensive after pouring Snape’s thoughts into it.

 

It was a wedding.

The bride had dark red hair and emerald green eyes. The groom had untidy hair and——Hermione gasped——a face that was nearly identical to Harry’s.

She saw a 20-year-old Lupin and a 20-year-old Sirius as well.

So the woman was Harry’s mother?

The priest announced their names, Lily Evans and James Potter. They smiled merrily.

Yet it was Snape’s memory. Where was he? Hermione looked around and spotted a 20-year-old Snape, who had seated himself in the corner, almost invisible as nobody paid any attention to him.

The young Snape gazed at the bride with apparent hunger and desire in his dark eyes.

“You may kiss the bride,” said the priest.

They guests whistled and cheered. Snape poured another large cup of firewhisky for himself.

And with all the guests present, James smiled a playful smile, leaning forward and shared a series of passionate kisses with Lily. Snape’s pupils darkened. He looked like a dementor insulated from all the happiness and hope in the wedding.

And—a small flower floated from his mouth. Snape eyed the flower in disbelief, though it was soon replaced by an emotionless look.

His Flowerus Disease was spontaneous.

The scene drifted. Hermione was in a destroyed house

Several footsteps were heard.

Snape staggered upstairs, overwhelming sorrow written all over this powerful Occlumens’ face. He could hardly support himself.

He hobbled into the bedroom.

It was surprising that Snape’s eyes could hold so many tears. The moment he saw the tragic scene, he let out a howl in agony. Snape held Lily’s body, sobbing in despair.

He cut a strand of Lily’s hair with shaking hands and collected them carefully, his mouth muttering _Enervate_ in vain.

Nothing could awaken the dead.

Everything dissolved again.

The Quidditch pitch in Hogwarts. Hermione saw herself accompanied by Ron and Harry, talking loudly.

Snape was walking behind them. Before he revealed his presence, he cast a vanishing spell on a stray flower on her robe.

The surroundings were shaped into Hermione’s bedroom. Hermione saw herself lying on the bed, sleeping. Snape stood beside her bed, his face not revealing a hint of his thoughts.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. The soft kiss soon developed into a heated one, Hermione’s tongue fought for dominance but her resistance didn’t last long as Snape bit her lip softly. It was not until they were both out of breath that Snape pulled back from her.

His eyes shimmered in the moonlight.

Neither of them were cured. Their fates were doomed before they had even known it.

Snape waited until the dubious blush faded from his pale face before he woke up Hermione officially.

Then there was darkness, thick and impenetrable.

Hermione stood there, wondering where it could be in Snape’s memory. And a weak yet unmistakable voice spoke:

“The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.”

“Professor!” Hermione cried out.

“Thank you for granting me that. If it were you in the first place...”

His sentence was not finished as he voice faded away.

 

She rose from the Pensive, the flowers tightly in her hands.

Hermione looked down at them.

Asphodels.

In Greek mythology, they were said to carpet Hades, where the dead forever haunt.

 

\-----The End-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Have a good day.


End file.
